


The Long Night Comes

by Captains_Orders



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Friendship, M/M, Mentioned Main Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 19:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9783227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captains_Orders/pseuds/Captains_Orders
Summary: Cor Leonis watches Insomnia fall and struggles with not being able to stop it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I never really anticipated this to hit 1k words let alone 3 so obviously at some point this thing got away from me and I'm not sure exactly where I ended up with it.  
> Just had some thoughts about Cor during the fall of Insomnia because that poor guy just can't catch a break. And I wanted to see at least one more fic in the Cor/Drautos tag.  
> (also I had no idea how to tag this so let me know if I need to add anything)
> 
> As usual unbetad and to be honest i hardly even read through it before posting but I can deal with that later.

Cor tries not to think about the implications of his post, he fails miserably, but he does try. It’s hard not to think about it all when the city feels so quiet, most of the people are home glued to their televisions, or forming what must be an enormous jostling crowd around the Citadel. Insomnia is holding it’s breath for what's to come, or maybe that's just him. He exhales and lets his fingers drum across the hilt of his katana. He should be there, the Crownsguard should be there, it is their place and duty to stand beside the king. He should be there, but he’s not, and he can’t change it. So Cor waits, making his rounds on foot through the city blocks he’s assigned to himself. They should have contacted him by now, and something doesn’t feel quite right that the only contact he’’s been getting is confirmations from his people that they’ve taken up their positions. There's a tension in the air he feels like he could cut, and he’s all but vibrating with it, but that's not quite right. He hold out his right hand, expecting to see the telltale shake of nervous energy, and nothing, nothing but the persistent humming in his ear. An icy dread seeps into his veins and Cor looks up just in time to watch the Wall shatter like glass. No. It takes less than a second for him to starts running, hardly thinking, Kotetsu’s hilt digging harshly into his palm. With an insistent buzz his phone rings and while part of him wants to ignore it his discipline won’t allow such things. He doesn’t bother to check who’s calling before he answers. 

“Leonis,” he states, still moving at a brisk walk. 

“Marshall! Thank goodness I got a hold of you!” Monica’s voice is breathy on the other line, like she’s been running too. 

“What is it, Monica?”

“Do you see it?”

“Yes, the Wall is down, I’m headed to the Citadel now.”

“Not the Wall, Marshall,” she replies. And then he hears it, engines. Eyes drawn to the sky once more he sees them, the airships, five in his view. Niflheim is invading the Crown City. Cor freezes. Without the Wall Insomnia is helpless against the might of the Empire, even with every one of its soldiers ready for war. Part of him wants nothing more than to return to the Citadel and protect his king, protect his home, but Clarus had made his orders clear. His king’s orders are clear. And duty wins in the end. 

“We need to evacuate the city.” It’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to say. “I want half our forces securing the West Gate while the rest gather civilians. We have to move fast.” 

“Yes, Marshall.”

“And Monica,” he says before she can hang up the line. 

“Yes, sir?”

“You’re with me, start informing the rest of the Guard and head down here with as many curatives as you can, we’ll need them,” he paused, looking towards the direction of the Citadel where smoke had begun to rise and stamped down the urge to go. “I’ll clear a path. Meet me at the end of Main Street in an hour.”

“Got it.”

The line goes dead with a click, and Cor slips his phone back into his pocket before he can break it out of frustration. Setting his feelings aside he takes a deep calming breath, centers his focus, and sets to work. 

People flood into the streets as the minutes tick by, as explosions echo from different parts of the city and send its denizens into a blind panic. Cor does as he’s meant to, protects, and while it is not the king, it is the king’s people, and he is sworn to protects them with the same ferocity with which he would defend Regis. When the MTs start to drop, he cuts through them as quickly as possible, clearing a path to freedom for the people in his charge. It becomes systematic, collecting civilians, giving out orders to the members of the Crownsguard as they arrive, destroying magitek troopers along the way. It’s almost easy, but Cor isn’t naive enough to believe it. 

Monica is there to meet him at the end of Main as instructed, flanked by younger members of the Guard as she frets over her phone. He’s late by nearly an hour and the sun is beginning to set, painting Insomnia in an orange glow, beautiful on any other day. 

“The evacuation is running smooth, Marshall, but I’ve already lost contact with the central division,” she says in lieu of greeting. Cor nods as he approaches, this isn’t the time for pleasantries. 

“Any word from the Citadel?”

“No, sir. And nothing from the City Watch or the Kingsglaive.” she replies and Cor swallows past the lump in his throat. 

“And where is Dustin?”

“Escorting Iris Amicitia out of the city. We’re keeping each other updated.” That at least is a weight off his shoulders, one less person he has to worry about. No doubt Clarus made the arrangements in case the treaty signing fell apart, which it obviously had. Once again he has to bury his concern to keep focused on the task at hand. 

“Good. Anything else?”

“Yes, I don’t have all the information yet, but apparently there was a terrorist attack at the Citadel as well, by a group of anti-treaty rebels. We don’t know if there is a direct connection to Niflheim’s invasion or unrelated, we’re relying on whatever news channels are still trying to cover the attack.”  


“Damnit!” He doesn’t mean to lash out, has never lashed out, but the anger and frustration surging through him take control long enough from him to send a nearby bit of MT flying down the currently abandoned street with a well placed kick. Monica doesn’t flinch, the two soldiers by her side do. “How are we so unprepared for this!” It’s not a question, and Monica knows him well enough not to try and answer. 

“Something must have affected the contingency plan, regardless we have our orders, Marshall, we’re doing exactly what we should be.” It’s the perfect thing to say, something Monica seems to have a talent for, and Cor deflates, the anger breezing through him. Now is not the time to lose control. 

“Of course,” he answers, tone even and sure once more. “Keep trying to make contact. For now we need to check the perimeter for stragglers. We need to be gone before nightfall.” 

Monica nods, and the four of them set out, passing mostly empty streets and alleys as they search the city for survivors as it crumbles around them. The familiar purr of a magitek engine goes mostly ignored, but Cor draws his blade all the same. But then he hears the troops drop and they have no choice but to turn and fight. Cor counts ten MT’s, but they’re different, more sinister than the ones he’s already faced today. He acts fast. 

“You two flank the sides, I’ll go down the center. Monica, hang back to provide cover. Watch yourselves.” He gives his orders and charges forward, Kotetsu a blur as he cuts into the weak points of the first trooper. There’s a pained cry from his left but he stays focused, has to. Magitek Assassin’s, rare on the field and twice as deadly as their fellows, he must stay vigilant for every tick of eerie movement and hope his men do the same. He blocks the rapid spin of blades ahead of him as the next MT lurches forward then swing his sword up and around to take off its head in time to meet the next flurry of bladed arms to his right. On his next push he drops low and stabs up into the shoulder joint of his attacker, popping off one arm and driving the strike home into the metal chest before it can retaliate. Another shout from his left that's cut abruptly short and Cor’s moving, lunging towards the sound and plunging his blade into the back of one of the MT’s. Before its arms can spin around to meet him he heaves upwards and cleaves the metal soldier’s torso in two. There are three MTs left when he leaps back to count. Three MTs still standing and the Crownsguard he went into the fray with are both unmoving on the ground amidst the heaps of metal. His teeth clench in frustration and he springs into action, hurtling himself towards the MT on the right with a shout. It meets his attack with it’s own disjointed swing, those red eyes fixed on him with an almost intelligent focus. He hears metal clank as the trooper closest to them lifts an axe high and Cor summons Kikuichimonji to meet the strike while he holds off his main assailant with one hand still tight on his katana’s hilt. Except the sword does not come to his hand. No flare of magic. Nothing. That split second of hesitation is all the opening his opponents need. The axe comes down and he barely manages to lean away in time to avoid the swing, air singing as it passes far too close to his face for comfort. 

“Marshall!” He hears the shout followed quickly by two consecutive gunshots, and the MT’s near him drop with holes in their heads. He takes the opening and charges the last trooper, dodging the sudden jet of fire it unleashes from its arm and driving his blade home, twisting into its mechanical insides until it stops twitching and the light of its eyes goes dim. “Marshall, are you alright?” Monica is suddenly there at his side, her voice sounds far away, and he can feel her hand gripping his shoulder. When did he drop to his knees? “Marshall?” She repeats, shaking him now as her tone drifts into panic. 

“King Regis is dead,” he finally manages to get out, barely above a whisper. Saying it makes his throat tight, his chest heavy with the sudden sense of loss. Clarus would be dead too, the king’s faithful shield would have died at his friend and monarch’s side. Cor tries not to think about how, there’s no time, but his mind races. He should have been there. 

“I see,” Monica replies quietly, squeezing his shoulder in comfort. There’s nothing more to say now, and Cor stands eyes drawn in the direction of the Citadel for a moment before he looks away, fists clenched and eyes burning. He should have been there. Monica steps gingerly over the shells of the MTs to check the two bodies among them. Cor doesn’t need to ask to know that they’re dead. More people he couldn’t protect. 

“We should get moving,” he says grimly. “Get into contact with whoever you can. We’re heading to the West Gate, tell everyone to meet us there.” Monica nods, hands shaking as they pull out her phone. Cor keeps his focus on their surroundings, checking on his companion every now and then as they make their way through the city. 

The light abandons them as the sun finally dips beyond the horizon, and then he hears it, the familiar ominous whistling cry through the air. Night has fallen and the daemons have come to claim what is left of his home. 

Suddenly Monica gasps, and Cor whips around to follow her gaze and watches as more ships come into view, carrying the largest daemons he’s ever seen. The first daemon drops into the center of the city and with a sudden crack Insomnia is burning behind them. They keep moving, faster now, and it’s easy not to think of anything but getting people out of the city alive. 

When they arrive at the West Gate it's empty. An out of place clearness amongst all the ruin.

“Dustin already urged what people were gathered out of the city, he’s got Iris with him, along with a caravan of refugees. They’re headed to Lestallum. I’ve lost contact with everyone else, it seems we’re all that's left,” she trails off, eyes downcast. “The gates seem to be clear for now, anyone escaping the city should be able to make it out.” He nods his agreement, his composure is slipping, he can feel it weakening with every shaking exhale. 

“And the Kingsglaive?” he says even though he knows the answer.

“Nothing.” 

“I see.” It's the answer he expects, but it still hurts to hear and he tries to keep thoughts of the Glaives and their captain out of his mind for now.

“We need to leave, Cor. There’s nothing else we can do for Insomnia now.” Her voice wavers slightly and he knows she’s right, has to accept the bitter truth. 

“Right,” he replies and tears his eyes away from the city. And as they leave their home, following the steps of others fleeing the carnage.

By some miracle they don’t run into any daemons on the road, as if all of them are too busy terrorizing the city to bother with the easy pickings of fleeing refugees. It makes the trek easier, but leaves his mind free to dwell on things he’d rather ignore for the time being. Monica is lagging beside him, her exhaustion evident as the trudge along. When he catches sight of a haven not far in the distance he feels relief, and they make for it with renewed vigor. They won’t be able to set up a camp, but he gets a fire started and they’re able to relax for the first time since the day began, sitting side by side as the night deepens around them. Cor watches the flames dance, glances over at Monica every so often, catches her wipe away tears with the heel of her palm and can’t think of anything that will take the pain away. The days they used to talk and laugh over simple things feel years away. 

“You should rest while you can, I’ll keep watch” he says. It's not like he’ll be able to sleep tonight anyway. So instead he shrugs the jacket off his shoulders and holds it out to her. Instead of taking the offered fabric she takes his outstretched hand.

“It’s alright to grieve, Cor. You can’t blame yourself for what happened.” She doesn’t wait for a response, just gives him a knowing look before grasping the offered clothing after giving his hand a comforting squeeze, folding the dusty black fabric neatly before setting it on the ground as a makeshift pillow. She doesn’t say anything else, has never pressed him in all the years they’ve known each other, but as always she knows just what to say. Cor swallows and nods but says nothing. How could he possibly put any of this into words? Maybe they’ll talk about it someday, but not now. She takes his silence, offers a sad and tired smile, and lays down, shifting for a long while against the rock until she has her back to him. Not for the first time Cor wonders where he’d be without Monica and her unfailing kindness, and he’s glad at least that she’s with him, that he has one friend left in this world that has suddenly turned so cruel. 

When Monica’s breathing evens and he’s sure she’s asleep, Cor lets himself think, grieving in his own way. A heavy sense of failure rests on his shoulders, regret seeping into his very bones. If only he’d been there to protect his king, maybe he could have bought Regis time to escape, maybe he could have saved him. Maybe, maybe, maybe. What ifs don’t change anything, he knows that, but they’re hard to ignore. For thirty years King Regis had been the axis of his life, his main duty to protect him and his kingdom, For thirty years Clarus Amicitia had been his mentor, the man he held in the utmost respect. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, they are gone and he could do nothing to stop it. And damn if it doesn't hurt. Finally he lets his thoughts drift to Drautos, to that last night they’d spent together before Niflheim tore everything apart with their promises and lies about peace. Maybe the loss stings more than it should, he’s not even sure he can name whatever they had. Were they friends? Lovers? None of it really seems to fit, but the loss stings without a name, another gap in his aching heart. Titus had asked him what lengths he would go to protect his home, how sure his answer had been, how easy it had come to him then. 

“Whatever it takes.” Was his reply and Titus had let out a mirthless chuckle, had looked at him with a pained openness Cor had never seen. 

“It takes everything.” Titus told him, and Cor had simply taken it as the cynicism of a man who had lost his own home, had denied it with kisses and a naive belief that nothing could bring Insomnia to its knees. How right Titus was in the end. Cor felt like he’d lost everything and everyone, including the man who his heart had no name for. Tears prick at his eyes and he blinks them away, but there's no stopping the silent flow and, defeated, Cor lets himself cry, if only for tonight. 

Monica shifts and murmurs in her sleep and Cor dries his eyes and glances at the woman beside him. He reaches out with a tentative hand to lay on her arm, hopes it gives her comfort from whatever darkness haunts her dreams. He hasn’t lost everything, not yet. 

And somewhere, safe and sound, is Prince Noctis, oblivious of what is to come. But Cor will be there for him, will aid him however he can. Maybe that's why his orders were what they were. Cor will never know, but he will do whatever it takes to ensure the prince claims his birthright, to make sure everything Insomnia endured wasn’t for nothing, that all the loss meant something. Even if it ends up taking everything from him in the end.


End file.
